Sliding his hands to his face
Looking into fear
And whatever
Climbing shadows, beasts
And battles he cannot possibly win
But whatever
Storming like a king
While he's nothing but a peasant
Believing in the glory of the name and cause
He fought for death
Not for your applause
And smiling as death passed by everyday
Taunting his every move
Crossing names of his lists
Names that resemble compassion to the living and potential company to the dead

Creating a fusion of fury, fear, and fine intellectual fundamentals
He climbed up his mountains
And hills that were once a barrier to the blocked
And but a long distant impossibility to the optimistic hopefuls
That lack incentives as long as they lack the money

He looked force with eyes of peace
And never blinked for once his eyes are shut
They will claim their judicial rights of attaining his cognitive abilities
But he never noticed anything
But the outer reflection of inner anxiety
Caused by his deformality
And un-abiding ways
That posed a question
To their minds
"are they waking up"?
He answers with words that do not speak
But can be heard
Flying fistfuls of truth
And hovering rationality
Long lost…
He steps in
And systems down in front
Of the lines of pens and chairs
Declared intellectual war
Courtesy of bad media and corruption
And the total inducement of indifference
In the people
The people of whatever…